


power trip

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa play with a new toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	power trip

“I don’t know, Clarke.” Lexa hesitates, frowning down at the small toy in her hands. 

Clarke stretches out on the bed, arching her back and cracking her spine with a sigh. She’s still naked, and she’s not above using her body to make Lexa’s eyes go dark and her face go faintly slack. “You know I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says, her voice sleep rough and sex graveled, and Lexa bites her lip, hard, staring. “I just think it’ll be fun, baby.”

Clarke runs careful fingertips over the dark bruise Lexa left on the underside of her left breast, pushing and smiling at the faint ache. Lexa swallows audibly. “That’s not playing fair,” she murmurs, two octaves lower than usual. She takes a dragging step towards the bed.

“No,” Clarke says, sitting up. “We’ve got class in fifteen minutes.”

Lexa wavers. “We could skip,” she offers, and it makes her face twist a little.

“No way. Remember last time?” Lexa had paused, in the middle of making Clarke writhe on her tongue, and asked Clarke if the syllabus had noted a precise attendance percentage.

Lexa goes slightly pink. “Not my finest moment,” she mutters.

Clarke swings a leg over the side of the bed and stands, moving until she’s got her hands resting on Lexa’s waist. She rolls her thumbs in small circles, sliding over the sharp points of Lexa’s hips. “It’ll be fun,” she cajoles. “Don’t you trust me to take care of you?” Lexa dips her head and sucks a nipple against her teeth. Clarke sways, then tugs sharply at Lexa’s hair. “Answer me.”

“I trust you.” Clarke drags her nails across Lexa’s scalp, rewarding, and Lexa melts a little, nuzzling into the hollow of Clarke’s neck.

“Good,” Clarke hums. She closes her teeth around the upper curve of Lexa’s ear and bites down into the cartilage until Lexa shivers. She takes the bullet vibe out of Lexa’s hand and slips her fingers into the crotch of Lexa’s panties, pulling them to the side. She runs her fingers through Lexa’s folds, just enough to make her pant wetly into Clarke’s neck and get slick enough to slip the toy inside her. Lexa shivers again, and Clarke makes sure the string is just so in place before straightening her panties with a last tap to Lexa’s clit. She snaps Lexa’s brastrap with her teeth, then steps away. “How’s it feel?”

Lexa’s eyes are completely blown, and she sways towards Clarke, dreamy. “Good.”

Clarke takes another step back. “Get dressed.” Lexa shrugs on a button up and tugs her jeans on, easing them over her thighs, and Clarke dresses quickly, nothing special, and waits until Lexa’s doing up the last button before flicking a nail over the lowest setting on the remote. Lexa jolts. Clarke puts it on the highest setting and Lexa bends over, bracing a hand on a desk, her breathing quickening. Clarke lets it go for another fifteen seconds before turning it off, and Lexa whines.

“Clarke…”

“Just a test.” Clarke kisses her once, quick and dirty. “I could hardly hear it, this is going to be great.” She links their fingers before Lexa can protest, and leads her to the door. “Get your bag, come on, let’s go.”

++

They usually sit side by side, their legs touching under the long table, and usually in the front, because Clarke is dating a nerd and because sometimes Lexa enjoys making the T.A. stumble in his lecture through the force of her dead eyed glare, but today they settle in the back, in the corner. Lexa sits by the window and Clarke sits so close they’re touching all along their sides and their legs. She hooks a possessive foot around Lexa’s ankle and tries not to look too pleased with herself as other students shuffle in.

Lexa hesitates, her pen primed over her neatly labeled binder, and casts her a sideways look. Clarke doodles a bouquet of flowers in the margins of her spiral bound notebook and fixes an innocent expression on her face. Lexa rolls her eyes, and starts to take notes as the professor clicks through the powerpoint. Clarke usually does take notes, whatever Raven and Octavia like to say to the contrary, but today she doesn’t even try to listen. She sketches, instead, propping up a folder at her elbow to keep her drawing from the eyes of the bored student to her right. 

She knows when Lexa looks over because Lexa chokes, coughing before fumbling for her water bottle and taking big gulps. Clarke smirks, and adds a flush to Lexa’s cheek in her sketch, Lexa stretched out naked in their room, the two twin beds pushed together, her wrists tied to the frame above her head, her mouth slack. Her legs up and wide, her muscles defined as she arches her back and spreads herself open. In real life, Lexa squirms beside her, and Clarke wonders if she can feel the toy shift inside her when she moves. The thought makes Clarke squeeze her own thighs together. 

Lexa slides a single index card over, the blue ones she generally reserves for science flashcards. _Tease_ , it says, in stylus-tip black pen, the only ones Lexa will use, sharply defined in the curls and loops of the calligraphy Lexa practices as a hobby. Not fair; the last time Lexa’s long fingers swooped that delicate intricate lettering it was on Clarke’s inner thighs, and Lexa hadn’t been able to wait--she’d smeared ink across her cheeks and jaw when Clarke’d sat on her face and ground down. Clarke is still considering how to respond, want coiling low and insistent in her belly, when the lights dim and she jerks her gaze to the front of the room. A documentary starts up, the volume turned loud; everyone’s eyes are to the front.

Lexa’s fingers dig into her knee under the table, and Clarke doesn’t know if it’s a plea or a warning, but she’s already slipped a hand into her sweatshirt pocket. Lexa takes a deep breath when the vibrator comes to life inside her, and Clarke keeps it on the lowest setting for a minute, enough to let Lexa get used to it, enough for Lexa to ask her to stop. Instead Lexa exhales, soft, and sinks lower in her seat, relaxing. Clarke checks her watch--twenty minutes until the end of class. She thumbs the vibrator up and watches Lexa out of the corner of her eye, the pleasure playing across her face, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Clarke experiments with the settings, putting it high and then low and even off, keeping away from a rhythm. Lexa’s chair squeaks as she shifts, her feet planted on the ground, alternatively spreading her legs and then squeezing them together.

With ten minutes left Lexa’s hand clenches on the arm of her chair and then her fingers go out, pleading. Clarke links their hands and rubs between Lexa’s knuckles, presses crescents with her nails and watches them fade. Lexa licks her lips, her breathing noticeably affected, fighting not to pant. Five minutes left and Clarke puts the vibrator on the highest setting, leaves it there. Lexa makes a noise in her throat, small and strangled, and Clarke flicks her wrist, warning. Lexa presses a hand against her mouth and looks down, her elbow slipping on the tabletop. Three minutes after that and Lexa puts her head down, and she looks just like a bored student catching a nap just before the end of class, except under the table she’s squeezing Clarke’s hand so hard it hurts.

The image on the projection screen freezes, and the lights come on. Clarke turns the vibrator off and takes her hand away. Lexa doesn’t lift her head until their classmates have shuffled off--when she does Clarke’s breath catches because her face is sheening lightly with sweat and her eyes are pitch black with the faintest ring of green and her lips are swollen from being bitten and her cheeks are the prettiest flush of pink. Clarke smiles. “Pack up your stuff, I want to ask the professor a question.”

Lexa’s eyes widen. “What--Clarke.”

“Just a second,” Clarke says, cheerful, and smacks a kiss to Lexa’s cheek. “Be good,” she murmurs in her ear.

Clarke wastes only a few minutes, asking some bullshit clarifying question on the upcoming assignment. Just before she thanks the professor she turns the vibe back on; when she gets to the hall Lexa is waiting, leaning against a wall. When she lifts her head to glare Clarke flicks it to the highest setting and Lexa stumbles instead. “Don’t be a grump,” Clarke scolds, and pulls Lexa, on wobbly legs, to the bathroom in the corner, the single stall room. She should probably check to see if anyone else is around, but Lexa crowds her in, bumping against her back; Clarke’s hardly through the doorframe before Lexa’s claiming her mouth in a kiss, desperate. “The door,” Clarke says, and then moans as Lexa sucks gently below her ear. She pushes Lexa away and Lexa whines. “Be good,” Clarke warns, and Lexa stills.

Clarke locks the door and flips the light on. She turns the faucet on blast and leans against the wall, inviting. Lexa goes to her immediately, fitting their hips together. Clarke tilts her head back and Lexa falls into her throat, soft sucking kisses and careful nips. Her hips cant against Clarke’s. “Close,” she mumbles.

“Feels good, right?” Clarke runs her nails across the back of Lexa’s neck, pulls at the neckline of Lexa’s shirt until she can see the mark at the base of Lexa’s neck, the juncture of her shoulder, the one Clarke never lets fade, green and blue and yellow layered in the prettiest darkened rings. She pushes a finger into it and Lexa groans, long and needy. “You were so pretty,” Clarke hums. “Next time maybe I’ll let you come in class, would you like that?” Lexa pulls away, swallowing hard and repeatedly, and Clarke pulls her back, setting her mouth at her chest and pulling her shirt down to give her room. Lexa goes back to work, eager and whining. “No marks,” Clarke warns, sharp, and Lexa’s teeth ease up. She licks, instead, quick short flicks of her tongue, across her collarbones, up her throat, tracing her jaw.

“Clarke,” she says again, pleading.

“Good girl,” Clarke says, and Lexa shudders. “You’re so good, baby. You wanna come now?” Lexa keens in response, desperate. “You can.” Lexa sighs, pushing even closer. “You’ve been so good, and I’ve teased you something bad, huh?” Lexa’s breath hitches when Clarke pulls her head back by her hair, sets a thigh between Lexa’s legs. “Next time we’ll test the range. I’ll sit in our room all day and see how many times I can make you come. Chemistry, Law, History. Do you think you can do lacrosse practice with that in you?” Lexa’s eyes are rolled back in her head and she’s making a constant noise, soft and high pitched and perfect as she rides Clarke’s leg. 

“Come for me,” Clarke orders, and Lexa spasms, obedient, just as Clarke sinks her teeth into Lexa’s shoulder, adding a new color to her mark.


End file.
